


A Sheep In Wolf's Clothing

by Apriel



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Aftercare, Anal, Anal Fingering, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Bucky Barnes Has PTSD, Bucky Barnes Has Panic Attacks, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Cock Warming, Crying During Sex, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Exhibitionism, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Post-Civil War (Marvel), Praise Kink, Pre-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Rimming, Rough Sex, Sex Toys, Smut, Spooning, Tenderness, Top T'Challa (Marvel)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-06-02 06:02:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19435393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apriel/pseuds/Apriel
Summary: Tired of the yet inconsequential pining between the black panther and the white wolf, Shuri takes match-making matters into her own hands to see them on their way, and naturally it works like a charm~





	A Sheep In Wolf's Clothing

**Author's Note:**

> this is another fic i started a year ago but just now tidied up, last one for pride month d(･ω･)

Bucky has been staying in Wakanda for nearly two months now, and while T’Challa is by all means happy to host the ex-assassin, it pains him to see the man still so fearful and downtrodden.

Any news of the outside world or of Steve can plunge the Winter Soldier into a spiral of self-torment, and his triggers are numerous. 

They can bring him stability, of course. Bucky has made excellent efforts toward his rehabilitation, but the residue of battle and the shock of past hardships are not quite as simple to undo, even with Shuri’s talents.

He can be reconditioned. He can unlearn certain things that were drilled into him during his time as a Hydra agent. But he can’t ever fully forget the trauma he endured, and having grown increasingly involved in Bucky’s recovery, T’Challa fears that those are the things keeping him down.

Memories of his actions haunt him at night and make sleeping even aided by herbs illusive, and daytime is no safer.

Many times already T’Challa has held him and soothed him through seemingly unprovoked fits of breathlessness and anxiety. Bucky is always so sorry afterwards and it’s a stabbing kind of pain to hear the man apologise for being hurt. 

He fears being a burden; T’Challa can tell that without needing to hear it. But no matter how he tries to express it to Bucky he knows it’s not reaching deep enough.

T’Challa has told him often that he _wants_ him to be a burden. He wants Bucky to let himself crumble if that’s what it takes to get better. But the stubborn soldier can’t ever seem let go.

Bucky came to Wakanda to heal—to find his way again and remember how to value himself—so far, however, T’Challa feels his attempts have been unable to penetrate the hefty layers of doubt and self-loathing that swathe the super soldier.

_Some_ might speculate that the king is trying a _little_ too hard though…

“To what do I owe today’s visit, brother?” Shuri’s mocking voice greets the king without her having to even look up. “I notice you are still wearing those _hideous_ sandals in my lab,” she berates.

T’Challa can only manage a defeated smile of acknowledgment, and finally Shuri pays him some attention.

“What is the matter?” she asks with a tasked groan, turning to face him. “Oh I know, it is about your broken white boy again,” she presumes with a smirk.

“I am worried about him,” T’Challa finally responds.

“As always,” Shuri mumbles.

“It seems every day I get further and further from reaching him... his pain is too deep, and I keep thinking I have changed something, but then I realise... I haven’t even scratched the surface of what he is feeling.”

“You are so dramatic, brother,” Shuri smirks, letting her elbow slide along the control panel on her desk.

T’Challa ignores her lack of sympathy and continues, “I just wish there was something else I could do to help him. He is too humble! I cannot even convince him to take up residence in the palace and—”

‘Is that hard enough for you, Sergeant?’

‘Y’heah! Ah—oh god!’

“Oops,” Shuri says, feigning innocence as she whisks away the hologram.

T’Challa blinks, blindsided by the interruption.

“Shuri. What is that footage?”

“Oh that? Nothing, I just wanted to get you to stop talk—”

“Why was Sergeant Barnes in your lab doing... doing _that_?! With _those_!”

Shuri maintains her wryness. “Would you like to see it again?” and T’Challa swallows. He shouldn’t. His sister is a menace and he’s only encouraging her if he says yes.

“Yes,” he inevitably admits in even less time than he should have. “Show me.”

Shuri pulls up the footage again from her wristband and does nothing to suppress the pride she exudes.

“Is this what you and him have been doing?” T’Challa asks with an unreadable glance; possibly disapproval.

Shuri grimaces, rejecting the implication immediately.

“Of course not, it is _nothing_ like you are thinking,” she assures with disgust in her expression. “I have no interest in him _or_ that. I am an inventor! My life’s work is designing things to improve how we exist.”

“I see,” T’Challa accepts. “And you just so happened to decide that James needed... whatever _that_ is?”

Shuri breaks into another smirk as she begins to excitedly reveal her latest fixation.

“Guess what I call it?” she grins.

T’Challa rolls his eyes but humours his sister.

“I don’t kn—”

“Vibratium,” she finishes for him.

“Very clever,” the tireless king commends. “Now... show me how you use it on Sergeant Barnes...”

‘Ah~ wait, don’t record it! I’m gunna’ c—’

‘Are you sure, Sergeant? My brother might like to see this...’

The mischief in hologram Shuri’s voice is palpable as she guides Bucky’s decision away from modesty.

‘Ah— oh’kay,’ he concedes blushingly as his breath hitches between thrusts. Right now he’s on his back with his legs bent up to his shoulders taking an automated pounding from some relentless machine.

T’Challa shakes his head, dragging a hand over his mouth to hide his amusement.

“You are a monster,” he chastises noncommittally.

“So is he,” Shuri deflects, ignoring her brother’s unfinished sound of protest as she closes the projection before seeing Bucky climax.

“My god,” T’Challa gasps when the next thumbnail appears.

‘You’re doing amazing, Sergeant Barnes, you’re nearly all the way down,’ the off-screen Shuri commends as the monitor is dominated by the image of the Winter Soldier sinking slowly onto a dildo the width of his own body.

‘Ah—oh god!’

“Anyway! Here are some new things he has yet to try, these beads are like the ones I use for your suit but when you throw _these_ they will bind a person to either the nearest object or to each other. They are unbreakable and can only be deactivated by voice command,” Shuri excitedly reveals. “I also have—”

“Shuri, I thank you,” T’Challa interrupts graciously, “but I will not be using these on Sergeant Barnes. I know what he needs now.”

Shuri cringes and retreats with her inventions, “I do not want to know what _that_ means,” she mutters, pretending not to see him swipe a tub of medical jelly as he goes. 

She smirks to herself once he us gone. This may have been one of her more long-winded plans, but getting the pair together had become an imperative goal.

Having listened to hours of Bucky’s thinly veiled confessions toward a quiet attraction to her brother, and her brother’s constant self-admonishment for being unable to bring Bucky out of his shell with his boring speeches, she knew the only way to get their over-serious king to think outside his dramatic approach would be to show him the way.

Bucky is too reserved to say what he wants, and T’Challa is too consumed by altruism to realise that Bucky _isn’t_ looking for the kind of help he keeps offering. But while a semi-stable-one-hundred-year-old-man in love with an austere ruler who has no romantic tact _sounds_ like an impossible match-up, Shuri might have just made it happen…

Bucky hasn’t been awake long. This past week he’s rather fallen out of his good streak. He had woken at five to watch the sunrise as always, but he couldn’t keep his eyes open to do much else, and so he restarted his day a few hours later.

He’s just making tea when the door to his hut opens without anyone announcing themselves.

“Mholweni,” he murmurs, sedate enough not to sense any reason to be alarmed. 

The children often pay him visits that start with a very sheepish game of ‘is he awake yet?’ that consists of them peering into his room to check, and on more than one occasion Shea Butter has body-slammed the door open when it is time for milking.

Neither of these are the ones at his door though, and Bucky jumps when he turns to get a mug and meets the sinister figure of the Black Panther in full regalia.

“K-king T’Challa,” he stammers, heart pounding. That little shock certainly wasn’t conducive to his goal of achieving inner serenity.

The mask of the Black Panther melts away with a faint purple glow, revealing T’Challa’s face, but _only_ his face. 

He’s expressionless—unreadable—and it makes the Winter Soldier nervous. He humours the thought that making people nervous by being mysterious was supposed to be _his_ angle, and he dares to say so.

T’Challa’s expression softens then when he sees Bucky’s timid smile, and he gently caresses the other man’s face with the back of his hand.

Bucky makes a soft noise and blushes, and it confirms T’Challa’s intuition.

He leans in to kiss him on the mouth. 

Bucky flinches, startled at first by the advance, but T’Challa grips his upper arms, careful not to dig his claws in but using a firm enough grasp to prevent him from backing away, and Bucky sinks into the kiss, letting T’Challa take full advantage of his relaxed guard.

The softest moan escapes him when they break for just a moment, and T’Challa uncovers a hand so that he can safely hold the Winter Soldier’s chin between his thumb and forefinger.

He says nothing and neither does Bucky, but the way the ex-assassin avoids lifting his gaze tells him as much as the blush on his cheeks.

It’s quiet confirmation; an opportunity to let him halt the whole thing and say if he doesn’t want it. But he says nothing, so T’Challa progresses, and carnally at that.

Finally a true sound leaves Bucky’s lips as T’Challa lifts him with ease and throws him onto the bed like a wild cat would its snared prey. 

The Winter Soldier is panting in no time, staring down the length of his body as the Black Panther shreds his robes to ribbons, no patience for systemically undressing him.

Bucky loves it. He’s exhilarated beyond recollection, and T’Challa hasn’t even _touched_ him yet.

First contact is almost too much.

Bucky has weathered _years_ of no such intimacy; past the point of touch-starvation and more or less at complete frigidity. 

T’Challa knows this, and yet he started with his tongue nevertheless. 

“Auh! Y-your majest—” Bucky immediately cups a hand to his mouth when he catches himself about to say anything more than a lilting exclamation.

Talking without permission was punishable. Not anymore, not here, but such a violently taught lesson didn’t bear risking to forget too quickly.

T’Challa catches it too though, and takes this opportunity to try and reach him.

“Go ahead... say what you are feeling, my treasure... tell me what you need,” he encourages, lifting Bucky’s legs onto his shoulders and licking his taint.

Bucky shudders and heaves a whimpering-sigh.

“You are free to speak, James... you will never be punished here,” T’Challa reiterates, making eye-contact and successfully holding Bucky’s gaze.

Bucky nods in understanding, but tears fill his eyes quickly. 

T’Challa tuts; sympathetic but not stalled. Bucky doesn’t let others see him cry, and even in private he doesn’t let himself cry nearly enough. This is progress. 

Retracting his claws, T’Challa takes generous handfuls of the Winter Soldier’s buttocks and uses both thumbs to gently pry open the pucker between them, just enough to dip his tongue in.

Bucky tenses, both metal and flesh hands shooting out to grip T’Challa’s forearms.

He swallows a cry, tears streaming down his face. 

It’s not so much the sensitivity but the very fact that someone is loving him like this again.

There are lots of ways to receive love, of course, but T’Challa has never approached him this way, and Bucky is only now releasing just _how_ long he has wanted someone to.

“Ah! Th-that feels good,” he hiccups, long eyelashes fluttering as his brow furrows briefly and he concentrates on the pleasure he’s receiving. 

T’Challa smiles wryly. He’s just getting started.

He produces the tub of medical jelly he’d snatched earlier and digs a deep crescent into the firm mixture.

His middle finger slides inside the Winter Soldier easily, and he takes his time working him open gently before adding another, all the while watching how Bucky responds. 

“Why don’t you touch yourself, James?” he suggests with a purr, noting how Bucky’s fingers are twitching on one hand while on the other his metal digits fist up the bedsheets.

Bucky shakes his head, jaw clenched as he tries to cope with the feeling of T’Challa coming dangerously close to his prostate. 

“Try it, kipenzi,” the king persists, a fond smile on his face as he sees his little soldier cling to his decorum by a thread. “You were not so coy when my sister had you trying out her gadgets... why have you become so shy now?” he smirks. 

Bucky makes a sound like pure embarrassment, face flushing a furious red as he grunts and looks down at the man between his legs with wide eyes.

“Y-you saw?”

“I saw. And I am very impressed.”

Shuri had discussed her plan of course; it had been the only way to get him to go along with it, but Bucky hadn’t thought it would work!

The faintest little quirk gathers up the corner of his mouth then, and T’Challa sees that glimmer again; the very one he catches only every so often during fleeting moments and has longed to recreate ever since. 

The real Bucky—fun-loving and bold—who is still in there shines through in a cheeky smile. 

Now feeling inclined, Bucky slowly snakes his hand down to his cock and begins stroking his shaft. He’s pretty and cut, big too, and his head is already glistening with precum.

“That’s the way,” T’Challa croons, fingering him at the same speed he strokes himself.

He gives him some time to reconnect with his body, watching enamoured as the Winter Soldier moans freely, rolling his head from side to side as he masturbates for his king. 

T’Challa is already hard in his suit, and eventually he lets the whole glamour recede into the necklace so that he can prime his own cock. 

He gives himself a few good tugs to reach a full erection, being generous with the lube as he lines up with Bucky’s asshole.

“Are you ready for me, little love?” he asks, rubbing Bucky’s thighs as his calves remain mounted on his shoulders. 

Bucky nods, only now daring to open one eye and get a look at what is about to enter him.

“Oh, Jesus!” he curses, letting his head fall back into the pillows as he keeps haphazardly pulling himself off. “Okay,” he pants, licking his lips, “yeah, I’m ready.”

T’Challa pushes into him then, feeling the little soldier’s body widen around him.

Bucky makes a long groaning sound, lips pursed and teeth gritted as he tries to accommodate the mighty intrusion.

T’Challa intends to sheath himself deep inside the Winter Soldier though, and he keeps going until his balls are right up against the cleft of Bucky’s pert little butt.

“ _Very_ good, James,” he coos, earning an appreciative whimper for his approval. 

Bucky makes another low and lusty sound when he draws out, and it is music to his ears. 

T’Challa doesn’t intend to keep that pace though. He gives Bucky two more goes to get used to it, but when he can feel his hot canal start to expand around him, he knows he’s ready to take a pounding. 

He fucks him _hard_ and _fast_ and _rough_. It’s a pure, _carnal_ experience; both men _sweating_ and _grunting_ in the heat. 

Having been too shy to so much as say his name earlier, Bucky has certainly blossomed in the last half hour, going as far as to throw out a few choice curses that T’Challa isn’t so sure have much of the same sensual nuance in this day and age. 

It is endearing nonetheless, and when he sees Bucky starting to gasp and stutter, he knows he is near. 

“F-fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” Bucky cries, wincing as his cockhead glistens like a red bauble; oozing cum from the tip as he squeezes himself to climax.

He starts to sob, but T’Challa knows what it means for him. He knows it isn’t pain, but relief.

“That’s it, little one… you are doing so well,” he croons.

“Ah’hah! _Fuck_!” Bucky wails, canting uncontrollably as he shoots his load at the ceiling.

T’Challa follows. He would have been able to keep going, too, but he wanted Bucky to have the satisfaction of being spent in.

The creaking and the rocking and the laboured grunting ceases now; devolved into heavy pants as the two stay connected while they catch their breath. 

T’Challa brings Bucky into his lap then, gathering him in his arms and holding him against his chest as he remains inside him. 

His poor little soldier is unable to restrain himself as he sobs like a child. 

Bucky responds so well to love. It seems he is more open and more giving when he feels the sense of belonging in someone’s arms... or under them, drawing their generosity into his body.

T’Challa feels almost foolish for not seeing this as a possibility before. That perhaps it wasn’t trauma or a reserved personality that was holding Bucky back, but a sheer lack of companionship and intimacy. 

“I’m sorry, my treasure.” T’Challa begins to apologise, cradling Bucky’s head as he holds him. “I did not mean to be so rough with you. I was too f—”

“No,” Bucky denies, wiping his eyes with the backs of his wrists. “It... it felt good...” he sniffles. “I feel good.”

T’Challa smiles curiously, then carefully attempts a manoeuvre that ends with him back inside Bucky, spooning him as they lay side by side. 

Bucky seems to approve of the new position. It’s comforting to have the warmth of another behind him, supporting him. But it’s even more comforting to have that person’s cock snugly nestled inside him; an assurance that he’s safe and that they couldn’t possibly be closer.

It was never words the Winter Soldier needed, it was actions. All this time he’s needed intimacy; the warmth and solidarity of human touch. He needed love.

“This is what I have been missing, isn’t it, my heart?” T’Challa realises, gently stroking Bucky’s mousy locks. 

Bucky nods, reaching for a hand to bring round to his front. 

“And I was too preoccupied with my own ideas on how to help you that I didn’t see it...” T’Challa continues, rubbing Bucky’s belly.

“It’s not your fault,” Bucky murmurs. “I was just... too scared to ask for any more from you... you’ve done so much and I—”

T’Challa stops him before he can get lost in a debate of what he does and doesn’t deserve by hushing him tenderly.

“No. I realise now you were very clear,” he states. “I apologise, little one. I will listen more carefully from now on.”

Bucky nods, knowing this isn’t a time for dispute.

He smiles. Then he chuckles.

“What?” T’Challa smirks. “What is so funny?”

“Nothing,” Bucky resists, his laughter escalating to the point where T’Challa cannot avoid laughing too.

“Tell me,” he demands, pulling Bucky hard against him and giving his softening belly a squeeze.

“I just… I just can’t imagine what you thought of seeing those videos,” he giggles.

T’Challa smiles and kisses his bare shoulder, and then his neck.

“Did I not make it clear how I felt?” he asks, reminding Bucky with a nudge that he _is_ in fact _still_ inside him.

Bucky sighs, a smile staying perfectly in place now.

“Maybe next time I will bring along some of those gadgets,” T’Challa alludes, feeling Bucky’s cock twitch. “Would you like that, treasure?”

The Winter Soldier huffs and swallows thickly, excited by the idea alone.

“…Please.”


End file.
